


And He Burned Down the House

by FredAndGinger



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Fire, Gen, Rich set a fire and he burned down the house, and his friends got him the fuck out, but this is mostly Michael's weird Rambo adventure through a flaming house, he also totally fucked up, injuries, so thats cool, woah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 00:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12783438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FredAndGinger/pseuds/FredAndGinger
Summary: He paused, his hand inches from the doorknob, listening intently. He could have sworn he heard--”Fire! Get out!”“Oh fuck,”Michael's journey from the bathroom to safety.





	And He Burned Down the House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpinalBaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinalBaby/gifts).



> I should be doing so many other things right now.

Michael sniffled pathetically, willing the tears to stop. His cheeks felt raw from rubbing the tears away and he was sure he looked like a complete mess. The water he’d splashed on his face before The Great Breakdown: Part Two wasn’t helping _now_ , but then again he’d cried an awful lot since then. 

“I gotta get back out there,” Michael told himself, looking in the mirror, “Otherwise I’ll never leave.” 

He took a deep breath to steady himself, recited his cover story in his head a few times, and walked towards the door. 

He paused, his hand inches from the doorknob, listening intently. He could have sworn he heard--

_”Fire! Get out!”_

“Oh fuck,” Michael whispered. _As if this night couldn’t get worse_. He looked at the doorknob suspiciously. He pulled his sleeve over his hand before touching the metal, but it was still hot enough to burn him through the fabric. “Oh shit.” 

Michael looked around frantically for another exit, any other way out. His gaze lighted on the tiny window above the toilet. 

Michael climbed on the toilet and tried to open the window, but it just cracked open, obviously built to just let out steam. He’d have to break it. But how?

_I need to be able to breathe first,_ Michael thought, grabbing the hand towel and soaking it in water, before tying it over his face. If felt far more uncomfortable than it ever looked in the movies. 

“Come on, think.” Michael said to himself, looking around frantically, “Shower pole? No, I can’t move that. Uh… shampoo bottles? Fuck. I’m never going to forgive Jeremy if I die in this bathroom.” 

He paced around hysterically for another moment, before he turned to the toilet again. “Bingo,” He whispered, pulling the heavy lid off the top. 

“Okay, Michael. You’ve got one chance at this,” He said, holding the lid awkwardly above his head, ready to bash into the small window, “Don’t fuck it up.” 

He screamed and hit the window. It cracked. He screamed again, hit again, and it shattered. Unfortunately, the toilet lid broke too. Michael dug under the sink for another towel to wrap his hand in to clear out most of the glass from the window so that he could climb out without impaling himself. 

Smoke was seeping in from under the door at this point. Michael cursed himself for not thinking about blocking that off, but he was too lightheaded to focus too much on that right now. He climbed the toilet as high as he could, what with the lid missing and all, and heaved himself through the window. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Michael whispered, struggling to pull himself through. For one horrifying moment he thought he was stuck, like Winnie the Pooh in his house, about to be eaten by fire because he was just too _fat_ , but he finally got free, falling to the roof of the garage, but slicing a long gash in his leg in the process. 

“Oh fuck, oh shit.” Michael swore, trying to stop the bleeding with the torn towel that he’d been using to protect his hands. “Oh god. I’ll care about that later.” 

He looked over the edge of the roof. It was too high, he’d break his neck if he tried to jump. However, there was another window a few feet over, maybe he could go through there and find some stairs… 

Michael tore the screen from the window and pounded on the glass, hoping someone would open it for him. No one did. He did notice, however, that it rattled suspiciously. It must have been old and fragile or something. He unwrapped the bloody towel from his leg and wound it around his hand once more, drawing back his fist to punch the glass. 

“It’s just like the movies, it’ll shatter.” Michael told himself, and he almost believed it. He punched the window. Nothing happened except for pain shooting up his hand. He punched it again, and again, channeling Uma Thurman in Kill Bill, “If she can punch through a coffin, I can break some fucking glass.” 

The glass finally cracked and shattered, and while the towel did its best to protect his hand, it wasn’t enough. Bits of glass pierced Michael’s hand and he cried out, shaking his hand frantically, nonsensically. 

“Oh shit, why?” Michael asked the universe. The universe did not respond. He cleared the glass as best he could and pulled himself, with much more ease, back into the house. Once inside, Michael took in his surroundings. 

He was in a family room or something. There were discarded red solo cups everywhere, melting into the carpet from the heat. Michael could see the fire around the bathroom door, how it was steadily approaching. Through the smoke, he tried to see which way to go, or if anyone was still there. 

Michael’s elementary school fire safety training kicked in, and he dropped to the ground, crawling along below most of the smoke. He saw movement a few feet away, something he was pretty sure wasn’t fire. 

He was wrong. Well, partially wrong. There certainly was movement and there certainly was fire, but it was just because Rich Goranski was actively trying to set the couch on fire. He was holding one of those long candlelighters, which is not what Michael had envisioned a master arsonist to use, but hey, he wasn’t about to judge. 

“Rich,” He called, coughing, “Rich, what the fuck are you doing?” 

“Do you have Mountain Dew Red?” Rich demanded, dropping the lighter. It was a bad time to drop it though, as it landed in a pool of alcohol, which Rich just so happened to be standing in. Fires blazed around him, but he didn’t even seem to notice. 

“Rich, move! Stop, drop, and roll, man!” Michael yelled, crawling closer to the flaming kid. He was about to say something else, when a figure ran past him and launched at Rich, tackling him to the ground with something. A curtain? A blanket? 

“Rich, are you alright bro?” Jake Dillinger, the kid whose house Michael was currently intruding in, asked, patting Rich frantically. 

Rich muttered out something about Mountain Dew and Jake turned to Michael. Michael could barely see his face through the smoke, his vision was beginning to swirl and his eyes stung, but he needed to focus. 

“Hey, kid. You’re that kid with the headphones, right? Did you see anyone else here?” Jake asked. He devolved into a coughing fit while Michael shook his head. He then realized that Jake probably couldn’t see him shaking his head, and answered like a normal person. 

“No- no I think it was just Rich.” Michael answered, “I don't know though, I was in the bathroom.” As he listened to Rich and Jake gasp for air, Michael was never more happy to have this stupid wet washcloth on his face. 

“The door to the downstairs is blocked off, we can’t get out.” Jake said, sounding hopeless, “I think someone called 911, but I don’t think they’ll be here soon enough and the fire’s getting close, and-” 

“Wait,” Michael said, interrupting Jake’s panicked rambling, “Wait I came in through the window. We can get out onto the roof.” 

“I thought you said you were in the bathroom?” Jake asked, but Michael just tugged on his arm and led him to the window he broke out. Jake lifted a struggling Rich through the window before climbing out himself. Michael quickly followed suit, glad to be out of the smokey room. 

“I guess we can wait up here.” Michael said, pulling the washcloth off his face. Jake nodded, looking exhausted, but then the foundations of the garage creaked, and the whole thing seemed to shift. 

“Oh shit.” Jake said, “It’s gonna collapse. Why is the garage gonna collapse? How did it get on fire?” 

Michael shrugged helplessly, looking down at their now-spasming arsonist. Rich didn’t seem to have any answers either. 

Jake looked over the edge of the garage, “I don’t think we can jump this. But I can help you down, and then you can catch Rich and then catch me, right? We gotta teamwork this.” 

Michael nodded despite his deep hatred for group projects and joined Jake at the edge of the garage. 

“Okay, so I’m gonna lower you down and drop you. Grab my hands.” Jake instructed. Michael wiped his sweaty, bloody hands on his shirt and took Jake’s. 

“Don’t drop me too much.” Michael said, feeling dizzy as he looked down at the drop. “Ow!” Jake had jostled one of the glass shards in his burned, bloody hand. Tears streamed down Micahel’s face from all the pain and the other boy winced sympathetically and started to lower him down. 

Michael was dangling over the ground. He could feel Jake’s grip slipping and he knew he needed to let go in a second, but he was struck by just how utterly _insane_ the night had gotten. 

He fell the remaining four feet and hit the concrete hard, falling on his ass. “Oh fuck, that’s gonna bruise.” 

“I’m sending down Rich!” Jake called from above, and Michael scrambled to his feet despite how every inch of his body begged him to just give up, to crawl to some nice patch of grass and _die_. 

Jake lowered the struggling Rich. Michael held his arms out and Rich suddenly wriggled free of Jake’s grip, dropping on top of Michael and sending him back the the ground. 

“Ow, ow, ow,” Michael all but sobbed, as Rich continued to squirm on top of him. The garage shifted again and he could hear Jake swearing from up above, but he couldn’t get Rich to _move_. 

“I’m coming down!” Jake yelled. 

“Wait--!” Michael yelled back, still trying to free himself from Rich, but it was too late. He watched as Jake jumped, flew through the air and landed… on his feet? 

For a moment, a millionth of a second, Michael thought that that was a good thing, that Jake was going to be alright. But then he heard the CRACK and Jake _screamed_ and time started up again.

**Author's Note:**

> Each kudos given to me prevents them from being spent on the war on terror.


End file.
